Here's a tale of woe for all those intending to holiday in Europe this summer.
I was in Paris yesterday (*why* is another story which I may favour you with later) . Before my
flight home I was taken out for dinner by my host, a chap far grander than I shall ever become. His
company has a business relationship with a quaint restaurant just outside Paris where they conduct
all their corporate entertaining. The meal was going well, when the rather glum waiter sidled up to
me and whispered in English 'don't eat that, sir'. He was referring to a rather plump Dover Sole in
black butter sauce. Intrigued, I excused myself from the table and wandered over to where the waiter
was standing. Apparently, the waiter had been quizzed by one of the sous-chefs on what the
'Englishman' was eating. The sous-chef then added his own special ingredient - he spat - into the
black butter sauce, before plating the dish. The waiter remonstrated with him, but was told to
'deliver the dish or you're sacked', hence his whispered message.
Now I could simply have thanked the waiter, passed on the dish, and left it at that. But that's not
my style, is it? So I returned to the table and informed my host of my predicament. Now, if there's
one thing the French are good at, it's causing an uproar. To cut a long and hilarious - from my
perspective - story short, the sous-chef was instantly dismissed, my host's company will not have to
pay restaurant bills for the next month, the restaurant management offered the glum waiter an
apprenticeship under their chef (a short-term drop in salary, but a highly sought after opportunity
at which he jumped), and I and my guests may eat at the restaurant -without ever considering the
bill - in perpetuity.
Why did the sous-chef flip? The war. He hates people from the USA and UK. It was his way of
getting his own back. Now, my little holidaying chums, how many other hotels and restaurants
across Europe will have similarly minded staff? You may wish to look upon you holidays as an
opportunity to lose some of your excess flab. I know I won't be eating in France again until this
little contretemps is over.
Bon appetite!
Roger.